


The Stars Incline Us

by AtlantisGirl



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-12 15:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15998060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlantisGirl/pseuds/AtlantisGirl
Summary: This story has original characters, settings, and themes that I claim ownership of. Shannara characters, settings, and themes belong to the creators of the TV show and Terry Brooks.This story is one of my.own creation, based closely on the Shannara Chronicles TV show. It was originally posted on FanFiction.net.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has original characters, settings, and themes that I claim ownership of. Shannara characters, settings, and themes belong to the creators of the TV show and Terry Brooks.
> 
> This story is one of my.own creation, based closely on the Shannara Chronicles TV show. It was originally posted on FanFiction.net.

Footsteps fell softly among the grass and fallen leaves. Two sets. One smaller than the other. One set was surer in their gait while the other was timid. Breathing was gentle, not labored or rushed as they fell at steady pace along the river. Leaves crunched under foot as birds sang from their nests up above in the treetops. The air carried a warm breeze, promising life and rejuvenation. The pair ceased and rested a moment along the water’s edge.

  
The woman stood watch as the child took a drink, her yellow dress gently touching the water’s surface. Her sheer skirt, slitted on either side up to her thighs, billowed in the breeze. She tugged on the waist of the tight shorts that hid her extremities from beneath the skirt. She then looked back to the child, watching her carefully.

  
A scream, ear-piercing and devilish in nature echoed from across the forest, making way to the ears of the woman and child.

  
“What was that?” The small child asked with fear trembling through their tone like a shaking leaf. Water dripped from her chin as she moved closer to the woman, small hand gripping part of her slitted skirt. The woman wrapped an arm around the child’s shoulders, billowing sleeve tossing back and forth along her back.

  
“I do not know.” The woman responded in a firm and collected tone. She was like a stone, anchoring the child and shielding her from the dangers that lurked in the forest. The woman pulled the child tighter to her side, gripping her shoulder. The scream streaked out again like lightening across the sky. The woman spun round and fell to one knee, mud dirtying her skin as she grabbed hold of the child’s shoulders. “I need you to stay here by the river and go nowhere. I will return.”

  
“No, don’t go!” The child flung her arms around the woman’s neck and tightly shut her eyes. The woman held her, eyes searching the sky behind the treetops for signs of the beastie. She rubbed a hand up and down the girl’s back soothingly and then pulled away when she heard another screeching cry.

  
“It is a daemon. A Fury by the sound of it. I must go.” The woman kissed the girl’s head and stood up. She looked down at the girl again and gave her a knowing stare.

  
“I will stay here.” The girl understood exactly what the look meant.

  
“Good girl.” The woman then padded away. Her footfalls were soft and cautious. They floated into the forest, following a brutish trail in the brush up a hill. The screams were suddenly wrenched from the air in a pitiful gurgle as the woman recognized the sound of the beast dying. She continued on her path, itching to see the carcass and ensure it was truly deceased.  
She found it on the beach. She peered over the edge of the cliff and stared down at its mangled form. The right wing had been cleaved in half, skull bashed in, and its blood soaked the sands. She looked for the source of the damage, but could see nothing but footsteps leading away from the beast.

  
There were _others_ in the forest. Others who had slain a daemon. A Fury nonetheless.

  
As she turned to head back into the forest, she felt there was something else in the air. She closed her eyes and tried to sense for it. It was like electricity, humming and soaring through the wind currents. A jolt ran through her, from feet up to her chest and then along her shoulders to hands as a signal that something was amiss. It was something she had not felt for a long time; powerful, beguiling... magical and ancient.

  
Turning from the beach and the cliff, she headed back to the forest. She walked to where the other footsteps in the sand met the tree line and began to follow. She was no tracker, but whoever these people were did not need someone skilled to follow them. They had left a trail a mile wide in their wake. She spotted a few droplets of blood on a nearby branch, leaves dotted with red.

  
Was this blood from the beast left to rot on the beach? Or was this one of its slayers’?

  
She followed the trail as far as she could and then lost it when the forest grew thicker. Standing on an incline up a small hill, she looked out among the trees in hopes that the flora would give her a sign of which way to go. The breeze picked up, carrying with it the sensation of electricity again. It hummed and buzzed like the wings of a hummingbird, leading her further up the hill.

  
A cave.

The forest had led her to a cave.

  
She stood at the entrance and peered into the darkness. The whole area hummed with magic, rippling through her, wave after wave like the crashing sea. As the breeze blew through the trees, the sunlight cast rays into the darkness and revealed markings. Ancient, significant, etched into the stone walls with magic. As more sunlight burst through the treetops of the great Maples, she spotted a stilled figure on a stone table.

  
It was a man.

  
She moved into the cave, the sense that something was wrong prickling at her skin. She walked to one side of the table and looked over the man. His shirt had been removed to reveal he was bleeding from a series of long gashes across his right side to his chest. Obviously, the claw of the Fury had ripped through his flesh life a knife through butter. His breathing was shallow and labored, eyes closed and beads of sweat trailing over forehead and face.

  
She looked back at the wound and gently reached out, unafraid, to touch the angry flesh with her delicate fingers. His skin seared with fever, her cold fingers doing nothing to quench it. She could see it was becoming infected by the daemon’s touch. He did not have long left to live.

  
“Can you hear me?” Her voice was soft and tender, like a feather floating down from the sky. She leaned over him, tossing her long, golden hair, which had been tied into a tail, over her shoulder and away from his body. She moved her free hand to his forehead and felt for fever, brushing away the beads of sweat from his brow with her thumb.

  
Her eyes scanned his face and then she tilted her head to the left to examine the strange markings on the flesh of his skull. They were intricate, ancient, meaningful marks that had turned to scars in his flesh. She peered up at the walls of the cave, recognizing that the marks on him were the same marks etched into the stone. Her gaze fell upon his face again. His eyes remained closed and lips slightly parted. He slumbered in his weakened state, torn and battered from battling the great beast on the beach.  
She felt something radiate from him. The same humming she had felt at the beach and in the forest. It was magic. He was channeling magic. No... he is magic.

  
Her eyes narrowed as her gaze became skeptical. She examined his markings again, allowing a finger to trace them before returning her hand to his hair. She looked down upon him once more, his form appearing to sleep, but his soul venturing further and further away.

  
“You cannot be...” Her words were a warm breath on the wind, carried to his ear and caressing his mind. Her thumb brushed over his forehead again in an almost affectionate manner. Her face was now empty as she debated with herself and the strong feeling she had in her heart. Finally, she relinquished. “You are, aren’t you?”

  
She looked down at his wound again and let her fingers delicately dance over his bronzed skin. She could feel muscle, taut and firm, beneath his skin and protecting his bones. The wounds looked angry and painful. She took her hand back and reached into a small leather satchel at her hip, searching for something in its recesses. She found an oblong, smooth amber crystal and pulled it forth.

  
She placed the stone nearest his wounds, balancing it easily on his abdomen. She hovered her hand over his wound and the amber, left hand remaining on his head. Her fingers brushed through his hair in a calming manner and then sat heavily on his crown. She closed her eyes and felt the warm sensation build in her chest and then radiate through her arms, releasing itself through her hands in a soft golden glow.

  
She was startled after a moment when the man jolted awake and caught her right wrist unyieldingly in his large hand. He twisted her wrist upwards, pain searing up her forearm. He growled and groaned, trying to pull his thoughts together. She looked down at him, seeing the panic in his eyes and cooed to him.

  
“Calm down. I only wish to help.” Her voice was soft, gently, reassuring. Her hand in his hair moved, fingers tenderly rubbing over his skull to calm him. “Please. I need my hand back.”

  
“What is your name, witch?” His deep, rumbling voice was littered with pain. His jaw tensed and his body shook. She could see him growing angrier, fiercer. “Your name!”

  
“I am no witch.” She kept herself calm easily, stroking his hair and meeting his intense gaze. “My name is not important. What is important, Druid, is that you need healing or else you will perish here in this cave.”

  
“How do you know what I am?” His words were a growl as his eyes narrowed at her in surprise that she knew what he was. His jaw tensed and teeth gritted together, body in so much pain from his wounds. He raised his head and her hand fell away.

  
“I have not seen one of your kind in a long while. That can only mean that you have a great purpose here and now. A purpose that you cannot afford the long sleep that death brings.” Her words were steady and thoughtful, easy and purposeful. Even in his despicable state, he could sense she was unafraid and resolute. It was as if she already knew this tale; knew the words and the rhyme as though she had lived through it before.

  
“What are you?” His voice had lost its ferocity and instead was growing softer with intrigue. He felt no malice from her. Instead, her presence calmed him; warmed him as one might at the meeting of an old friend.

  
“A healer.” She looked at her right wrist, the one he held onto firmly, and then met his gaze again. “Let me heal you, Druid. I feel you have much left to do in this world.”

  
She did feel it; in her bones, her blood, her soul. Something had led her to him purposefully. The forest, the breeze, the earth had led her to this cave and to him. To heal him. To save him. To save the **last** Druid.

  
The Druid considered her for a long moment. Fresh sweat beaded at his brow as the pain in his abdomen grew with each passing moment. The features of his face stiffened, muscles taut as he tried to keep his head raised. Slowly he released her wrist, letting his arm fall to his side as he laid his head back down. She returned her left hand to his head and brushed away the sweat, allowing her chilled fingers to cool the skin of his face. She placed her hand to his forehead, his temple, his cheek. She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone beneath his eye.

  
“You are safe, Druid. Relax.” She smiled warmly down at him and then looked back to her right hand. She picked up the amber and set it back on his abdomen before hovering her hand over it and his wound. She stood up straight and closed her eyes. She felt the healing energy build up within her again and then travel through her arms to her hands where the golden glow grew.

  
“You wield magic.” The Druid’s voice was soft and labored. She opened her eyes and stared across the cave to the stone wall.

  
“I suppose you can call it that.” She gave a small shrug and smiled down at him with big blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark light of the cave. “Vis is what I call it.”

  
“I do not know this tongue.” The Druid explained as he stared up at the ceiling of the cave. She looked back at her right hand, at the golden glow that emitted from her palm. She examined his wounds as they slowly crept closed, healing up into nothing more than thin scars.

  
“A language long since forgotten.” She breathed out as though finding herself lost in her ability. She turned her head and found that the Druid stared at her with dark, warm brown eyes that reminded her of the richest soil. They were the eyes of a man who had seen much more than he was meant to. Despite his outward appearance that spoke of a man in his mid-life, his eyes told another story.

  
She looked away from his gaze and back at his wounds. They had nearly healed, but they were deep within the muscle and muscle was harder to repair. She felt the glow, the energy, flow harder through her and into his wounds. She met his eyes once more and placed her hand back on his crown, fingers playing in his dark hair. She felt more energy emerging from her left hand, a soft blue glow starting from her palm.

  
The Druid suddenly realized she was not only healing his body. A calm came over his mind, one he had not felt before, and spread throughout him.

  
“What are you doing to me?” The Druid asked, voice heavy and eyes beginning to close.

  
“I am calming your mind so that you may have a restful sleep.” She answered without shame, continuing her ministrations in his hair. “Let it overcome you.”

  
The Druid’s eyes began to close, his breathing becoming gentle and steady. A hand caught her arm, the one that’s hand sat on his head, and gripped her firmly.

  
“Your name.” The Druid’s voice was heavy. “Tell me your name.”

  
“If we should ever meet again,” the woman with the light golden hair and deep blue eyes, leaned closer to his face with a serene smile on her pink lips, “we will exchange names as equals, Druid.”

  
She lowered her lips to his forehead and pressed them tenderly to his skin. The Druid felt his will drain away and closed his eyes once more, succumbing to the restful sleep she had promised.

  
She pulled her lips away from him, smiling at the slumbering Druid, and looked to her healing hand. His wounds had healed on the surface and were nearly completed below. Another moment went by before she was completely finished. She felt the energy dissipate and the glow faded. She withdrew the oblong amber from his abdomen, allowing her fingers to gently trace the remnants of his battle wounds. She looked to his face and found herself smiling once more as she took in his visage.

  
His face was chiseled as though from stone, but his features held warmth. His skin was bronzed as though the sun itself had bestowed the color upon him. Shoulders were broad as well as back. Chest was muscled and taut. He reminded her of an Alder tree; strong and resolute with branches embracing those who sought shelter beneath his arms.

  
“You certainly are the most handsome Druid my eyes have ever lain upon. May you accomplish what you are here for and find happiness along the way.” She leaned over him, hand brushing through his tendrils, and lowered her lips to his cheek. “Astra inclinant, sed non obligant. Good luck.”

  
She released her hand from his head and headed out of the cave. She looked to her left and then to her right, heading back down the hill. She never looked back, but held a smile on her lips as she headed for the river.

  
“We shall meet again my dearest Druid.”


	2. Chapter 2

Footsteps stormed through the palace, sandaled feet slapping against the marble and cloth swishing harshly back and forth from a long skirt. Golden hair swayed left to right, bouncing up and down like a horse’s tail. The figure, a woman, carried herself confidently and defiantly, through the long white halls as elves, emissary and guards watched her streak by them.

  
“Please, wait!” A rich voice called out from behind the storming woman, a flash of white and gold following her as she rounded the corner of the hall. The woman burst through the large double doors into the Throne Room like a wild, beautiful hurricane.

  
“Excuse you.” A man, an elf, slender in frame with warm chestnut hair and bright blue eyes snapped at her. He took a careful step down off the throne platform, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He narrowed his gaze. “Who do you think you are barging into the Throne Room unannounced?”

  
“Where is she?” The woman demanded, voice stern yet calm as though she had nothing to fear from these men. She demanded an answer, but she was not angry. All eyes in the room befell her and when no one spoke, she posed her question again in a softer tone, “Where is she? There was a note stating that she was being taken here to the palace.”

  
“How about you answer my question first. Who are you?” The young elf with dark chestnut hair and bright blue eyes questioned again, standing to the right of the king. The young woman walked gracefully and halted at the steps to the throne, staring up at the king and his two sons. Her eyes drifted between them and after a moment she met the king’s gaze once more. Her eyes pleaded and his expression remained statuesque as though awaiting a different reaction from her.

  
“Please, where is she? Tell me she is here and safe.” The woman spoke again, her voice calm as though she need not worry about her words nor the reactions of those around her. She did not fear retribution nor the forfeit of her own life. Not after all she has seen, has done.

  
The king recognized this in her. Something about the way she held herself; the way she met his gaze unabashed, unwavering. He found it intriguing.

  
“Answer our question, woman, and identify yourself.” The other son, to the left of the king with sandy hair tied up in a bun at the back of his head, demanded with venom in his tone.

  
“Her name is Aless.” The king placed a hand on his older son’s shoulder, drawing him back as he noticed his temper flare. The woman’s face, Aless’ face, went unchanged. She and the king had known of each other for many years, though they had never met face to face before. The king had heard stories of her, knew of her abilities, understood exactly of whom she was searching for.

  
“Father?” The son left standing back on the platform questioned, eyes betraying his confusion.

  
“Calm yourself, sons.” The king looked back at the young woman and offered her a kind, kingly smile. “I would gladly offer you up the one you seek if I only knew of whom you speak. Where is who, my dear?”

  
“Please do not, _dear_ me.” She retorted, her words holding power and harshness behind them, though she tried to restrain herself. She heard footsteps and saw from the corner of her eyes knights march into the Throne Room. Her eyes wandered back forward to face the king. “I am not here to cause a disturbance. Simply tell me where she is and do not ask me ‘who’ again. You know exactly of whom I speak. She has sandy hair with green eyes like spring grass. A laugh that could calm the harshest summer wind, wearing a pale yellow dress. We were separated in the forest near the Silver River today. When I returned to fetch her, she was gone with only this note in her place.”

  
The woman pulled out a piece of ratty cloth from her satchel. She held it out, words written crudely onto it in some kind of ink she did not recognize.

  
“Where is she? Where is my sister?” The voice that had followed her through the long halls finally entered the Throne Room. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder and strong of back, with strawberry blonde hair. His bright grey eyes seemed to glow in the light of the sun that came pouring in from the windows. His bootsteps fell heavily, thudding against the solid floor.

  
“Bjorn, what is the meaning of all this ruckus?” The king questioned, standing straighter as the young man took to the young woman’s side. The king could see the resemblance now that they stood side by side as equals in arms. The chiseled features, the stoic beauty, the eyes that told of stories from long ago. The king’s eyes rested on Bjorn, a young emissary he had learned to trust over the many years. He was no elf, but still, he had proven his worth to the elven king.

  
“Please excuse the intrusion, my lord.” Bjorn gave a deep bow, hand over heart, and stood straight again. The intense, militaristic royal blue dress uniform he wore was taut over his muscled chest and shoulders, gold and silver medals clinging to the single pocket on his left breast. Bjorn’s eyes cast sideways at the woman, who looked to him with exasperation in her eyes. “She does not mean to be disrespectful, sire.”

  
“Disrespectful...?” Her eyes were calm, collected, like two pools of the darkest blue water beneath a full moon. Her voice bit the word out as confusion befell her. She searched for an answer in Bjorn’s gaze. Why was she the one seen as disrespectful? Bjorn’s features twist, demanding that she realize her station in the palace. She looks back to the king after another long stare and stands straight with shoulders back in silent forfeit.

  
“I do apologize for my haste and temperament, king.” The woman’s voice, though ceded, still held an insolent tone or rebellion. She gave a small bow of her head, eyes turned to the man at her right with a sharp gaze. Bjorn felt her anger and her contempt through her gaze. He could do nothing except look away to ease the hole she was burning through him.

  
“No disrespect was meant and none was felt. Amusement more than anything for an old king with nothing left to do except babysit the realm.” The king finally spoke gruffly and placed his hands behind his back, chest puffing out. He rocked back and forth on his heels, staring down at the two at the base of the throne platform. His eyes held a glint of playfulness.

  
“Eventine,” The woman began as she raised her head again. “My brother writes to me, speaking highly of you and your kindness. Please, if you have her, I beg you return her to my care where she is safest.”

  
“Who do you think you are using the king’s name so casually?” The older of the two sons, Arion, snapped at her and dared to draw his sword on her. The point met her throat and she turned her head slightly to stare at him with calm resolve.

  
“You wish me dead? Over the use of your father’s _name?”_ She was not frightened nor was she shocked, but she was slightly perplexed. She saw Bjorn’s right hand move to the hilt of his sword in cautious preparation to defend his sister. She reached out a hand to him, placing it on his arm gently to stop him. Her touch was powerful, comforting, and he could do nothing other than follow her silent command.

  
“Don’t Bjorn. He is a boy. One who wishes only to defend his father’s honor.” Her words held heavy in the air. Her eyes glanced at him sideways and Bjorn let his hand on the hilt of his sword run loose.

  
“Arion, cease this foolishness. Withdraw your sword before you start a war you cannot win.” The king growled in firm finality and moved down the steps of this throne. He stood beside his son and waited for him to follow instruction.

  
“But father...” Arion began to argue. However, one look at the expression on his father’s stern face ceased his thoughts and words. After a long moment Arion did so, sliding his sword back into the hilt on his hip.

  
“You are lucky.” Arion growled lowly, but to whom neither of the siblings knew.

  
“Whom is it your sister searches for exactly?” The king addressed Bjorn and the young emissary stood straight to meet the king’s gaze respectfully.

  
“Her young Charge, sire. She was traveling with her through the forest on their way to visit me.” Bjorn replied, feeling his sister’s eyes on him. The woman turned her head again and looked to the king, sizing him up.

  
“Yes, she is my Charge, my student, and I want her back.” She demanded gently again, feeling a tugging in her heart.

  
“Yes, that much is evident I would say.” The king’s voice held a twinge of liveliness in it, eyes seeming to shimmer again with playfulness once again. “You say you found a note. May I examine it?”

  
The woman held out the cloth with the scribbled note on it and the king took it, examining it carefully:

_'We found the little girl alone and frightened._   
_She said something about an uncle at the Palace of Arborlon._ _We were heading to the palace anyway. We will keep her safe.'_

“She was taken and brought here or so I was led to believe.” The woman continued, feeling the air in the room change. Suddenly the tension in the room fell away. The king lifted his gaze, becoming more jovial.

  
“You were right to believe this note.” The king handed the cloth back to her. “A young girl matching the description you spoke of arrived here earlier with my niece her two companions. She was without shoes.”

  
The woman’s face split at a smile, one of worry dissipating, spread across her lips. She reached for her satchel and stuck a hand inside, searching for something in its recesses.

  
“Yes, she would be barefoot.” The woman explained and pulled forth two tiny sandals meant for a child’s foot. They were well worn and dirty. “She likes the feel of the earth between her toes.”

  
“It would appear she is in need of a new pair.” The king jested gently and the woman gave a small laugh, eyes welling with tears. Her heart gave a flutter of joy. She had worried so horribly. When she had returned to the river, the girl had vanished. No tracks, no signs of any kind of which way she had gone. Just a note, scratched onto a rather ratty piece of cloth.

  
“Guards, bring in the girl!” The king raised a hand towards a door on his right with a warm smile on his lips. The door opened and two knights stepped out. However, a third man appeared behind them, dressed in robes and leather armor from foot to neck. He was shorter than the guards yet taller than the woman by at least half a foot. He had broad shoulders like her brother, dark chocolate hued hair that had been shaved from neck to half way up his head, fading out. Markings scared his flesh round his neck and skull; intricate and ancient.

  
“Ah good! You both came.” The king looked at the man in the robes with a broad smile, arms open in welcome. The woman never looked away from the man with the markings. Something drew her to him, locked her gaze on him. His dark yet oddly warm, intimidating eyes met her blue orbs. Surprise became evident on both their faces.

  
“It’s _you..”_ The woman acknowledged with disbelief evident in her tone and on her face. She was neither angry nor bothered. Instead, she was calm and full of resolve. It comforted her in a way that it had been him to find the girl. “Druid.”

  
It was him. Wholly and truly. The one she had met earlier that very same day. The same man, who had lain hours before on a stone table nearing his final breath.

  
“Your the healer.” The Druid’s voice was low and rough, though it held no malice. Only bewilderment. He walked closer to her with the small girl, no older than six, holding tightly to his large gloved hand.

  
“Amita!” The small girl cried out from the Druid’s side, holding onto his hand tightly as though she would her father’s. The woman’s face in an instant changed at the sound of the high-pitched cry. Her features warmed and her eyes grew squinted as a large smile formed on her pink lips, pushing her cheeks upwards. A great smile burst onto the girl’s little lips, splitting her face from ear to ear. Her little bare feet slapped against the cool, marble floor, echoing throughout the hall as she skipped alongside the Druid. She seemed bent on holding his hand until the last second.

  
“I see you two have already met.” The king’s words were lost on the Druid and the woman. They stared at each other again, both not quite registering anything else or anyone else in the room. The Druid stopped beside the king and released the girl’s hand, clasping his hands before him then. The woman dropped to her knees, split skirt splayed across the floor and scooped the girl up into her arms tightly. She closed her eyes and picked the girl up, keeping her embrace firm and loving. She swayed back and forth, pressing her lips into the girl’s sandy colored hair.

  
“Now that is taken care of.” The king announced as he looked to the Druid and then to Bjorn, giving them a single nod. He ushered his sons and himself out of the Throne Room, leaving the four to remain behind. He sensed some greater conversation needed to take place, the air in the room having changed yet again.

  
“I was so worried about you, Aria.” The woman’s voice was small and gentle like the breath of the first spring breeze. She pulled back to look at the small girl, who had wrapped her legs tightly around the woman’s middle with her arms around her neck loosely. The girl’s hands played in the loose hair of the woman’s ponytail, curling her fingers in it. “I asked you to stay by the river, Aria. You **swore** you would till I returned for you. Did you not believe me? Have I ever broken my promises to you?”

  
“But, Amita, I did stay. I swear.” Aria’s voice rose in pitch as she feared the woman might be angry with her. The woman’s eyes held no anger though. Never anger at the girl. Only worry and relief.

  
“She is telling you the truth. She did stay by the river.” The Druid spoke up in Aria’s defense as he looked from Aria to the woman, eyes locking with hers again. “My companions and I found her. Alone. Wil Ohmsford left the note for you to find.”

  
“You make it a habit of snatching unaccompanied children, Druid?” Bjorn’s voice was low and sneering as his grey eyes stormed. The Druid looked to the emissary, no emotion evident on his face. The woman watched the interaction carefully, sensing something brewing beneath the calm resolve the Druid portrayed. He had greater things to worry about than her brother’s temper.

  
“I kept hearing noises in the forest. I got scared.” Aria quipped up quickly, trying to explain as tears began to form in her eyes. The woman’s gaze was back on her in an instant. “I thought something might have happened to you, Amita! I waited for you to find me, but you didn’t come back and then he found me.”

  
Aria pointed to the Druid and the woman’s gaze befell him once more. She felt an internal battle raging within herself. Stress, relief, joy, confusion… all mingled and clashed within her heart.

  
“Druid,” The woman spoke respectfully and stood a bit straighter with the girl in her arms. One arm rested beneath the girl’s rump, holding her up while the other rested against her back. The woman shook her head and smiled at the Druid, “How may I repay your kindness?”

  
This surprised the Druid even more. Had saving his life not been enough?

  
“You owe me nothing.” The Druid replied and clasped his gloved hands before him once more as he took her in again. She was smaller than him with a frame that spoke of her athleticism, but was still feminine. Her arms held muscle as well as her legs, reminding him of a willow tree. Strong, billowy, soft at the heart. Her shoulders held back and straight was her spine from years of obvious careful instruction. Her hair was rich golden blonde that competed with the sunlight pouring in from the window. It fell to her lower back in waves from the ponytail nestled at the back of her head. On her hands, he could barely make out small markings in an odd white coloration. They seemed to start at her fingers, curling and ebbing up her hands to her wrists and beneath the sleeves of her shirt. They made him question further who exactly this woman was.

  
“I owe you everything.” The woman replied and the Druid noticed the seriousness in her voice, the worry that still lingered behind her eyes. The Druid understood that the girl, Aria, meant more to her than he expected; more than she meant to reveal. He realized suddenly what the term the young girl had used towards the woman. He had heard it before.

  
“Amita... You are her aunt then.” The Druid’s words were finite and sure, realizing the language from which the term originated. The woman, smile growing soft, nodded her head as she saw recognition streak across the Druid’s features.

  
“I am.” She admitted softly, looking down at Aria in her arms. “Which means I owe you much more than you realize.”

  
“You saved my life today.” The Druid spoke once more and his voice was like a wave crashing upon rock; strong, rugged, and deep. It sent a vibration through the woman’s bones like electricity through a rod. His eyes fell onto the girl and then a small, almost forced smile rested upon his lips. “Protecting your Charge was the least I could do.”

  
She looked back down at her niece, who smiled big and toothy back at her. The Druid waited for her to speak and could see that she was struggling to put words to her emotions. She met his gaze again. He realized that her expression was one he had seen before in the cave when she told him to relax. When she was saving his life, and bringing peace to his mind. It was comforting and warming, like coming home.

  
“Please,” he tried again, seeming to break himself free of whatever magic she was conjuring over him, “I require nothing in return. Knowing she is safe and back with those who care about her is enough.”

  
The situation he found himself in was slightly uncomfortable. He was not used to the gratitude, the smiles, the warmth. It unnerved him in a way he was not prepared for. Not so soon after waking anyway.

  
“Druid, please understand that I must give you something. You saved Aria, a girl you did not know, from the kindness of your heart.” The woman urged again, hoping he would tell her something she could do. She needed to thank him in some way. It was only polite. “Please allow me the same courtesy.”

  
“Just give in, Druid.” Bjorn’s voice finally piped up, bored and slightly annoyed. “She won’t cede on the matter. It’s her nature to be such an annoying goody.”

  
“One of us must be.” The woman retorted quickly, eyeing her brother at her side though the Druid could sense no malice in her words or features. They were teasing each other.

  
“Amita! Patruus! I know what we can give him!” Aria chirped and wiggled in the woman’s arms to get down. The woman put the girl down and kneeled before her, allowing the child to whisper in her ear. “Make him one of your flowers!”

  
“No, Ria. The Druid does not care for trinkets like that.” Bjorn looked back at the Druid as though expecting him to decline such a modest thing. “Do you, Druid? Your taste runs more expensive, I think.”

  
“The Druids care little of worldly possessions.” The Druid retorted, eyes narrowing slightly at the emissary.

  
“You’ll like this one!” Aria exclaimed, trying to convince him to change his mind. She moved away from her aunt and took the Druid’s gloved hand in her own, tugging on it with earnest. “Amita is the greatest at this. Everyone at home says she makes the prettiest flowers.”

  
“If you insist then, little one.” The Druid gave a half smile at the child on his arm and the woman found the sight a comfort as though she and Aria had done something right to elicit such a reaction. A tender look appeared on the woman’s face, her eyes warm and expression loving. She stood up and cupped her hands before herself, closing her eyes. She took a small breath, feeling a warm sensation forming in her palms as a small green light emitted.

  
“See? I told you!” Aria exclaimed, excited at what had appeared in her aunt’s hands. The Druid said nothing. He could find no words to express what he had seen. A single, white rose bud appeared in the woman’s hands and bloomed fully with petals splayed.

The woman nodded for her niece to come closer and placed the flower in her hands. “Offer it to him, Ria, and tell him thank you for keeping you safe.”

  
Aria did as she was instructed and walked closer to the Druid, little bare feet slapping against the marble. She lifted her cupped hands up, rose in them, and offered the flower to the man. The Druid took the delicate flower in one of his gloved hands and looked down at it. His gaze slid upwards and met the woman, gears in his mind working; always working she could see.

  
_Did he realize what she was? Or was he simply trying to work it out?_ – She wondered with a smirk etching itself onto the corner of her lips.

  
“Thank you for saving me, sir.” Aria’s voice was small and high-pitched as young girl’s voices are. She gave a small curtsey in her yellow dress and then moved back to the safety of her aunt’s arms.

  
“Good girl.” The woman cooed to her niece, rubbing hand over her back and shoulders. She met the gaze of the Druid again.

  
“I wish to speak with you.” The Druid posed the request and gave a sideways glance at Bjorn. In a flash, his gaze was back on the woman before him. “Alone perhaps.”

  
She too found she wished to speak with him privately.

  
“Aria,” she spoke up confidently and meaningfully, “go with your uncle and see if he cannot find you a new pair of shoes.”

  
“But Amita!” Aria began to refuse. However, one stern look from her aunt silenced her. She knew better than to argue with her. It was a losing battle that she had never won.

  
“Come little one.” Bjorn announced, meeting his sister’s gaze and understanding her request. He felt his niece’s eyes peering up at him with disbelief.

“But Patruus!” Aria looked up at her uncle in his regal attire and tried to whine her way out of being sent away. He outstretched a hand to her, awaiting her little mitt to take it without ever looking down at her.

“Let’s leave the grownups to speak.” Bjorn’s grey eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned gaze eyes onto her. “And see what we can scrounge up for those troll feet of yours.”

  
“I don’t have troll feet, Patruus!” Aria scolded him, but took his hand anyway with a defiant smile. Bjorn laughed and then took a quick moment to size up the Druid. The Druid met his stare and gave a small bow of his head as if to confirm that the woman would be safe in his presence. Bjorn gave a scathing snort, wondering briefly if the Druid understood that it was not his sister’s safety he was worried about, but the Druid’s. He knew his sister could handle herself. She had been since she, herself, was Aria’s age.

  
“Play nice, sister!” Bjorn called out as he led Aria out of the Throne Room, having the guards close the doors behind them. The woman waited a moment, listening to the patter of their footsteps as they led away. She then slowly looked back to the Druid, neither speaking. They locked into a silent battle, a staring contest of sorts, awaiting the other to speak first.

  
“Well, this should be interesting.” The woman cracked a smirk at the Druid as her blue orbs sparked with mischief. “Where should we begin, Druid?”

 

* * *

 

Amita = aunt, paternal father’s sister  
Patruus = uncle, paternal father’s brother


	3. Chapter 3

~The Throne Room~

The woman continued to stare the Druid down with eyes sparked by mischief. She could sense that nothing about her unsettled him in the least. He obviously had been faced with much worse and much uglier beings before; she would not be his undoing.

Neither would he be hers, he noticed. He watched carefully as she moved about the room, her skirt swaying and matching the rhythm of her hair. She came to rest beneath the sunlight streaking through the high windows and warmed her skin like a flower perking up and blossoming.

“It’s been a while since I could spare the time to stand still and enjoy the sun. I do miss it.” She announced and smiled at the feeling of warmth crawling over her skin. The Druid watched her with interest, eyes trailing over her again as though sizing her up in one fell swoop. Her dress was odd. Odd to him anyway. It had been a while since he walked the earth and many things appeared to have changed without him. It was only natural.

He examined her dress again; slitted skirt white as fresh snow with taut golden pants beneath that hugged her curvy, muscular legs. Her top was white also with a deep slit in the front tied loosely with thick cord that exposed the top of her chest and breasts. The sleeves billowed and drooped over her hands with small intricate gold designs on the ends. At her middle was a golden corset, tied loosely enough for her to breathe and move easily, but tight enough to expose her hourglass frame. Her feet were sandaled up and around her calves with leather cord.

Markings stained the tops of her feet in intricate patterns very similarly to the markings on her hands. They were white and faded as though becoming lost to time. He recognized them. Somewhere along in his Druid training he had seen them before.

“Lost to your thoughts, Druid?” She could sense his eyes lingering on her, but could not figure out quite why. It did not bother her much though. She was accustomed to the attention people gave her and slowly, in his silence, she assumed he was thinking the same about her that everyone else did.

“I understand my appearance is strange. Kind of haunting or so some have told me.” Her words were gentle and unabashed, but he could hear a kind of sadness to them. A sadness she had suppressed. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him, seeing his demeanor had not altered. “Some people in my village believe my beauty is enchanted itself.”

 “Is it?” He could not help but to ask, though he knew the answer as soon as the words had slipped away from his lips. “Enchanted by magic, I mean.”

“Of course not, Druid.” She gave a small, warm laugh that made him relax into his leather armor and his stance. He released his hands, which he had not realized were clenched at his sides, and let them hang loosely. He would not have doubted her answer had it been the opposite.

He was a Druid and that came first above all, even worldly pleasures, but he was also still a man who was certainly not blind when it came to beauty. It was plain to see that she was gorgeous and, yes, it was in a haunting way, but not the manner others found it. He assumed others feared it, feared her and her abilities. Magic was after all a taboo and most feared what they did not understand; could not understand. 

He understood though. He understood that her features only portrayed the inner beauty of her soul; as above, so below. She was practical, but kind, honest, and prudent. Above all, she was warmhearted and carried a natural brightness with her as though the sun itself sought her company. She was the embodiment of something so familiar, yet so distant in his memory that he could not recall. Her delicate features, feminine features, spoke of divinity and an inner strength that was held back by forced, learned propriety.

Her brother shared similar features; high cheekbones, a heart shaped face, eyes that enchanted the mind. But, it was also her eyes that set them apart. While Bjorn’s were a stormy grey, stern and unyielding that one wanted to avert from, hers were a warm, deep blue that beckoned attention. Demanded it.

“Though I suppose it could be true. How would I possibly know the difference?” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, sighing as she savored the warmth of the sun on her skin. Her hair, tied back with cord, bounced as she nodded her head in agreement with herself. Perhaps she had been enchanted and never realized it. “That’s possible, isn’t it? To be enchanted and not realize it?”

“Yes, it is possible. Magic is a fickle mistress that way; a cruel mistress. But I do not believe that to be truth in your case.” He assured her, tilting his head to the side to gain a better look at her. He confirmed to himself that her eyes  **were**  haunting and otherworldly, just as she was told. They were deep blue pools that grew to near white towards the center just before the small black speck of her pupil. A tunnel to which at the bottom one could see their own reflection staring back at them; the darkness that lurked beneath in their heart of hearts. That is what made them haunting. That is what made people fear them and become drawn to them at the same time.

They were also pensive though, thoughtful. They showed an inner reflection of one who was much older than the young woman was. Someone who knew much more than she ought to, had experienced much more than she should have.

_Who_ _i_ _s this woman_ _?_  – He wondered to himself, finding he was growing frustrated by the lack of knowing. He should know. He should have figured it out by now. It was there, plain before his eyes, and yet he was blinded by her magic.

 “You said something to me earlier in the cave.” The Druid began, pulling his gaze away from her visage in the sunlight.

“I said many things to you in the cave while I believed you were delirious.” She replied, turning her face and squinting against the light in her eyes. Her lips hosted a ghost of a smirk on them as she moistened them and chewed gently on the corner of her lower lip.

“Yes, you did.” He confirmed seriously and his seriousness only made her laugh again. She had met many men like him.

“You druids, always too serious for their own good.” She laughed again and turned her head back to face the sun once more. A smile plastered itself to her lips, brightening her features, “Which part were you referring to, Druid?”

“If we should we meet again, you would tell you my name.” He concluded and waited patiently for her to respond. The woman gave another laugh that was wholehearted and jovial.

“And to think I had believed you were so disoriented during the whole ordeal that, surely, you would not remember a word spoken when you had awoke again.”

Yet, he  **did**  remember and, to her disbelief, this was the most pressing question he felt he needed to ask her. Not about her abilities or her healing or even how she had come to be in the cave at that very moment at all. Her name... that was what he wanted to know.

“Alessandra.” Her voice was soft, airy, almost so that the Druid did not believe his ears at first. His gaze returned to her face, greeted by the intensity of her big blue orbs staring back at him again.

_Most certainly_ _haunting._  – He told himself, as her eyes seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun; sapphires that a weaker man might lose himself in if he were not careful. But, while he was not a weak man and they both knew that, he did find something attractive about her gaze that seemed to bewitch him. This knowledge bothered him yet seemed to amuse her a good deal.

“My name is Alessandra.” Her lips, pink and full, curved upwards as a heartwarming smile broke across her face as though greeting an old friend. It lessened the intensity of her gaze and made her appear younger. “Most call me, Aless. Some prefer Alessi.”

“And which do you prefer?” He questioned and could see that she liked he had asked this. She took a moment to consider his question, looking ahead of her again at the small oval windows behind the throne.

“Alessandra.” She relinquished and turned herself to face him fully once more. The sun caught her side and warmed part of her back. She clasped her hands before her, lacing her fingers together and stood straight, confidently before him. “I prefer Alessandra.”

“Alessandra, it is then. I am Allanon.” He too stood straighter, shoulders back and lifting his chin. The leather robes he wore seemed to become tauter, if at all possible, over his muscled chest and shoulders. He eyes locked on her in an undefinable battle of wills.

“Allanon.” She repeated his name, letting it drip over her lips like a kind of trophy. She mulled it over in her head and then nodded. “It suits you.”

He didn’t respond and she found herself slowly looking to his right side where his wounds had been. She tried to detect a sign that she had not healed him properly, but his actions nor his stance gave anything away.

“How are you feeling?” She asked as her eyebrows knitted together gently, concern creasing her brow. 

 “I am here and alive.” He spoke surely and made no notion that the wound ailed him currently. However, her curiosity and worry got the better of her.

“I thought you would have been too exhausted after it all to be walking around honestly.” She moved closer to him, standing a foot before him and reached a hand towards his abdomen. Before he could react, her hand pressed firmly to his side and he could feel the pressure of her palm through his leathers. 

“It does not ail you?” Her eyes darted upwards though her head remained where it was. She could sense, through her palm, something was not quite right. Something was possibly still unhealed or broken.

“No.” He replied stiffly as he met her stare, eyes locking. She could see defiance burning within him. A stupid masculine defiance.

“Are you sure about that?” She narrowed her eyes and suddenly pressed her hand in harder. He hissed, teeth gritted and face twisted. She growled out at herself, “Dammit, I knew it.”

She pulled her hand away and leaned back from him, shaking her head at herself and her work. Allanon took his right arm and wrapped it around his abdomen to caress his left side where she had pushed him.

“I am sorry.” She released in a sympathetic breath of someone who had realized what she had just done. She had not meant to push so hard, hurt him so badly. “Bone and skin are easy, but muscle is always the hardest to repair. So many fibers that need to be reconnected.”

“It will heal in time.” Allanon declared and straightened, hand resting on his side where hers had been a moment ago.

“Yes, but it would heal faster with my help.” She retorted, feeling badly that she had not finished the job the first time. “I promise I am better than that, more skilled, more careful.”

_Why hadn’t_ _I_ _made sure?_ _–_  She scolded herself and made to reach out again to him. He lifted a palm to halt her. She met his gaze and saw the finality within them.

“That will not be necessary.” His eyes seemed to warm a bit as his full lips hosted a ghost of a smile. He could already sense her disappointment at being turned away. “I can handle a bit of pain until it heals. You already saved my life. You and your strange magic.”

“Not magic, Druid.” She was quick to correct him, eyes immediately returning to meet his stare. His demeanor changed and his features twisted in uncertainty, sensing something was off about her at the mention of magic.

Had he struck a nerve? He could not place his finger on what was off about her. He knew what she was. He could feel it, but why could he not give it a name? Recall what her kind were called? Was this an after effect of the Druid Sleep?

“It’s energy.” Alessandra looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers as though she could see the energy flowing through her. She could sense it beneath her skin, in her blood. “Pure and untainted. That warped version others use, that is  _magic_  and it’s highly toxic.”

“Others.” Allanon was suddenly testing her, feeling the term leave a bitter taste in his mouth. She could sense she had misspoken, but that he was not above listening to her reason. Allanon released his hand from his side. “By this I assume you mean the Druids.”

“Yes, in a sense, I suppose.” Alessandra took a moment to compose her thoughts carefully and walked away from him, coming to stand beneath the light of the sun once more. It was comforting, recharging in a way. She walked up the stair of the throne’s platform and to one of the odd oval windows. A potted fern sat there in the light, branches and leaves drooping with neglect.

Allanon followed behind her, watching her through the rungs of the arch that sat on either side of the throne, covering it. Her fingers gently brushed through the leaves as though it were hair or fur of a beloved pet. Her features grew somber and pensive. She stared at the plant, her side to Allanon’s view as the sunlight cast her in partial shadow. He took a single step onto the stairs and tilted his head slightly. His eyes held her form like a vice as he observed her ministrations to the fern, watching her delicate fingers run over the leaves that looked as though they had been ignored.

He moved closer, footsteps noiseless as he climbed the last three steps of the throne’s platform. He came to stand a few feet beside her, also being cast in partial shadow as many of the oval windows held plants on their ledges and blocked the light.

“Druid magic,” Alessandra began, feeling his presence near her. She could sense his magic. It was like the warmth from a hearth; heavy, radiating. She licked her lips and continued, “your magic, is similar to my abilities. Both are elemental in nature. Drawn from the earth, air, fire and water in numerous forms.”

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh air and sensing the sickliness of the plant before her. It saddened her and left her with the feeling that something greater was wrong in the world.

_But what_ _was it_ _? –_  She wondered as she recalled a similar feeling she had gotten upon arriving in the strange elven palace. A kind of shroud, a heaviness that threatened to suffocate her; as though something was being dragged beneath the waves of an ocean, struggling and gasping for air. Something was reaching out to her.

“Your magic, however,” she let her hand fall from the plant as she felt an ache growing in her heart, “can be weakened or enhanced by the strength of the user.”

“And your power?” Allanon had a sense that he already knew how this story ended. His eyes drifted from her face, following her eyesight on the plant. He should know what she is. The signs were there. Why was it alluding him? ...or perhaps she was causing it? Was she trying to hide herself from him?

“My abilities have no distinction like in the ways your magic works. You must understand that, in reality, I have no power at all. The energy, what you refer to as power, is not a part of me. Rather, I am a part of  **it** ; an extension of it.” Her words were not what he expected and he found himself moving closer to her, drawn to something about her. What she said was both wise and strange.

What she did next appeared so natural for her that it took him by surprise. She raised both hands and cupped them around the fern gently as though it were an egg; fragile and delicate. With a serene smile on her face as though she had come to some great realization, features dreamily staring at the plant, a small moss green glow emitted from her palms.

He could feel the energy radiating from her. From  **her** , not her hands where his eyes could see it. The actual energy came from within her, coursing through her veins and releasing itself through the outlet of her choice. It was peculiar and different from his own abilities. She had not spoken any invocation, had not done any hand gestures or anything he could see or sense to elicit her power to appear. It just had as though it had a mind of its own. As though... as though they were connected symbiotically.

“My ability... I can channel energy in its pure form rather than warp it for my own benefit through spells and invocations.” The fern between her hands, once wilted and browned along the edges, suddenly was a deep healthy green. “The energy is what it allows me to use it as. Such as how I healed you without talisman or chant. It simply flows through me as though we are one, a river’s flows moving collectively.”

“You had a gemstone.” Allanon announced, recalling the smooth oval piece of amber she had lain on him.

“That was for  _another_  purpose.” She was being evasive. She wanted whatever the real purpose was to be elusive. Allanon looked at the fern that had been rejuvenated. He had seen similar shows before in his lifetime. Therefore, it did not surprise him. Not after what he had felt of this power in the cave, not after she had saved him from the brink of death. However, there was something missing. Something that had been drilled into his mind since he was a child; magic always comes at a price. So, what price had she just paid to heal a plant? He could see nothing on the surface, could sense nothing beneath.

“Magic, the variety I was speaking of that is separate from yours and mine, is  _perverse_  and wrong.” She let her hands fall from each side of the fern and looked Allanon straight on. She seemed to beg him to understand her words through her eyes. “ _That_  kind of magic has been warped from its true form; energy. A pure form turned muddled and toxic. It can only bring pain.”

She found the conversation engaging and his interest comforting. It had been a long while since she had someone in a similar position as herself. Most found energy and magic a topic not to be spoken of in common, open conversation. It had been a long while since it had been deemed taboo and the Four Lands still found it a foul thing after so long.

Though, as she thought about it further, it was not often you had a Druid and someone like herself in a room together. It was rare at best. Both her people and his were a lost breed. She briefly imagined what else they might be able to speak about; what things might he be more knowledgeable about than herself; what might she be able to offer him in return.

“I hope you understand that I did not mean you or the Druids are warped. I do not think that in the least.” She found herself wanting to clarify her words. She was not one for caring so much of how her words bothered others or if they were  _improper_ , but something about the man elicited an odd reaction from her. She found herself wanting to be certain she was being careful, that she wasn't giving him the wrong impression. 

“I would not blame you if you did. Many in the Four Lands feel that way. Especially now after the war.” Allanon clarified and Alessandra smiled, hearing no contempt in his tone.

“They are just... blinded.” She began, trying to pull her thoughts together. He was patient, watching her with interest. “They have seen that the Druids found a way long ago to control this corrupted kind of magic and did so without themselves falling prey to its wicked nature. But... there have been many others who were not so lucky and their failure has blinded them.”

“You truly feel this way?” He was not mocking her. Simply asking if her feelings were truly her own or had they been swayed. It surprised her nonetheless. 

“Don’t you, Allanon? Do  _you_  feel all magic, all power, is dark and to be feared?” She was quick to retort, a fire burning in her belly suddenly as though she had eaten something acrid. Not only did something about his expression worry her, but something in the air suddenly felt wrong as well. It was similar to when she first arrived in Arborlon. Something left a foul taste in her mouth every time she took a breath and burned her sinuses and her lungs. She shrunk back a little, internally trying to pull away from whatever was making her feel so horribly.

“Dark, no.” He spotted something in her eyes change. She blinked more frequently. She swallowed harder. Her breaths were deeper, releases shorter as though something had hold of her lungs. She shrunk away from him. “But I do believe all magic should be feared. Even yours.”

Silence grew and Alessandra was left to decipher the strange feeling within her; melancholy, illness, fear... 

“My abilities are not dark. I do not fear them.” She tried to ignore the feelings bombarding her senses. She closed her eyes a minute and drew in a deep breath, feeling her lungs burn.  She had hoped that perhaps she had found an equal in this man, the last Druid. However, when he said nothing, her face fell. She suddenly felt alone... and in pain. A deep, heart wrenching pain that struck her down. It felt as though something was tearing at her skin from within, trying to scratch its way out.

“Lady,” Allanon began, sensing something spread over her like a veil, shrouding her as clouds might the sun’s rays. Her brightness diminished as the warm suddenly felt drained away. She ignored his interjection completely as though lost to whatever it was bothering her.

“What most, common people don’t understand about magic, Druid, about  **all** magic, whether yours, mine, or that toxic version others use... whether good or bad... it comes at a price. Sometimes a very steep price.” She continued on, the pain spreading through her like wildfire. It curled over her skin, sent a shockwave through her mind. The sunlight struck her face as she shook her head, golden mane swaying over her back and tickling her skin beneath her shirt.

“Sometimes that price is acceptable, fair even, but other times... other times it is far greater than one could have foreseen and you can never take it back.” Her voice was feeling restrained in her throat as though she had been screaming. She needed to flee. Something here was wrong. Very wrong. “You cannot change it, you cannot choose what to give up... and sometimes it seems you gain less than you lose. It makes a hole in your heart, a hole in your life that you just cannot repair.”   
“My lady.” Allanon tried again, feeling the air around them grow dark and thick like a fog sucking all the oxygen out of the room. She was in despair. He could see it. Something had latched onto her and was draining her. He could sense her power, the energy she spoke of, being sucked away. His eyes darted to the potted plant and an idea sparked in his mind.

_When she had touched it, had it manifested something to drain her?_ _...w_ _as it the Ellcrys?_ _–_ He pondered quickly, interested in whether his assumptions were correct. After everything that had gone wrong already, he did not doubt it.

“I have a name that you, yourself, asked for.” Her tone was low, hurt in a way he felt he understood. He recognized the feeling that hung in the air, the look on her face. Something else plagued her mind, her body. Her reaction and exasperation was not geared towards him.

“You do not appear to be well. Something ails you.” Allanon spoke, but she appeared not to hear him. She could, however, hear the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears, feel blood rushing through her, body and mind going weak. Allanon took a step closer with a hand out for her to take it seemed. “Allow me to–”

“No, no. I believe I am just exhausted and famished. It has been a taxing day. Healing wounds such as yours zaps my strength. Add worry for my charge and you have a recipe for utter disaster.” She responded in a calmer voice, trying to regain her self-composure. This was more than all that though. It was not her empty stomach, tiredness, or exhaustion. It was something else. She found she did not want him to know, to see, to sense that something else was wrong with her. She forced a smile onto her lips. She needed to be stronger than this.

“Perhaps the next time we meet you will use the name you so demanded from me, Druid.” She breathed out and swallowed hard. She knew her words sounded curt and surly. She had not meant it that way.

“Indeed, the next time I shall.” Allanon agreed, giving her the escape she so desperately seemed to need. She was trying to hold herself together before him. Trying not to let him realize something was ailing her. She was proud. Perhaps too proud.

“Please, excuse me.” She spoke quickly and in an instant, she was heading for the door like a rabbit fleeing from a wolf.

“You are right about the price of magic.” Allanon did not know what compelled him, but he spoke out again with a fiery breath. She froze for only a moment in her tracks. Something about the way he said it had struck her like a hot rod through butter.

“It is never fair and it is never equal in our minds, but there is always a price to pay for power. Good or bad.” He felt a pain stretching across his chest. Something was affecting him as well. Something attempted to tug on his magic, his energy, trying to draw it away.

_Was it her?_  – He questioned and focused a moment to try to pinpoint what was happening. –  _N_ _o. It’_ _s something else entirely_. 

“It is a balance,” he continued as he pushed the force away. He took a few, calculated steps closer to her, eyes never leaving hers, “a line which you and I tread very carefully because we understand what the costs could be. Only we alone understand.”

“That we do, Druid.” Her voice was low, breathy as though it was using all the air in her lungs. Allanon stood straight again, hands coming to rest before him; one on top of the other.

“I hope we cross paths again, Alessandra.” Allanon’s words were final, suggesting in a gentle way that promised her they might. She realized there was more meaning behind his words than a promise. There was empathy. 

_Only we alone understand_ _._

_We are the same. –_  She concluded, seeing the same knowing in his eyes. They both understood one another because they were the only two people in the world who could. Two of a kind; ying and yang.

“I suspect we shall.” She promised, melting from her frozen state at the start of a searing pain in her mind again. She raised a hand to her forehead, pushing against her brow.

“Will you be alright?” Allanon could see her desperation, the need to be alone. Beads of sweat trimmed her brow and glistened in the setting light of the sun.

“I think I will retire for the night, seeing as the sun is going down anyway.” She attempted a smile, knowing it didn’t reach her eyes, and then disappeared out the door. She hurried down the hall, not realizing that the Druid had followed her out of the Throne Room. He watched as she rushed away from something unseen yet so formidable.


	4. Chapter 4

~Arborlon Palace~

~Afternoon~

Alessandra’s night had been quite unrestful. She had found Bjorn and Aria in the dining hall, eating their dinners and had foregone eating herself. The smells, the sights, the sounds, it made her so incredibly sick she feared emptying her stomach right there. So instead, she had found her way to her temporary quarters and had gotten herself into bed, only to find that sleep eluded her. 

She had tossed and turned for hours, body aching. She had fended off fever and chills, mind playing tricks on her. She eventually found herself sick, dry heaving into a potted plant near her bed. Unintelligible whispers, low and hurried had plagued her mind and conjured up images of battles and brimstone. She had heard screaming, smelled fire, tasted blood. Throughout the entire night, she had felt the same pull on her as when she had first arrived to Arborlon. Something was indeed draining her. It was leeching off her like a parasite. She could not figure out what it was or why it had sought her out.

“Amita!” A high-pitched, airy voice called from the door with a small series of knocks to follow. Alessandra stirred in her mangled heap of bedsheets, half delirious to the world around her. Bright, radiant rays of sunlight poured into the room from the small balcony behind her bed and caught part of her back and an expose leg that dangled out.

“Amita, are you awake?” Aria’s voice came again, louder this time with more aggressive knocking. “Patruus, is she awake?”

Alessandra tried to find the strength to respond, but found herself immobile and mute. She turned over in the bed, back firmly against the mattress and the left side of her face exposed to the sunlight. Her body ached. Her throat was raw. Her head seared with pulsating pain. Her eyes were puffy and sore.

“Aria, move from the door a moment... Alessandra?” Bjorn called from behind the door, knocking firmly. Alessandra stirred again and tried to open her eyes, instantly regretting it for the sunlight struck them. Her hair, pulled loose from its tail because of the tossing, was splayed over the pillows in masses of golden tendrils. She opened one eye again tentatively and peered at the locked door, partly wishing they would leave her be.

_Just let me rest_... – she grumbled internally and closed her eyes again, feeling exhaustion overcoming her.

“Alessandra!” Bjorn’s voice came sterner from behind the door as he rapped again on the wood. Alessandra startled from her sleep, eyes snapping open. “Alessandra! I believe you have slept enough. It’s already deep into the afternoon.”

Bjorn’s voice fell away as he listened behind the wooden door.

_It’s the afternoon?_ – She questioned, trying to rally enough strength to move. She turned her head and looked out the balcony, seeing the sun high in the sky.

“Aless?” Her brother beckoned her, tone strange. Shuffling... and then gentle knocking rapped again. “You didn’t eat dinner last night and Aria says you had not eaten anything the day you arrived in Arborlon either. We are heading to get lunch. Please join us.”

“Come on, Amita!” Aria’s small voice begged her aunt to move from her bed.

Alessandra decided that, no matter how she felt, she needed to eat something; she needed to start her day. She thought about her brother’s words, about what her niece had told him. She could not remember when she had eaten the day before either. Had she eaten breakfast? Lunch? No, she had found the Druid before she had the chance. Then she had discovered Aria’s disappearance and had forgotten all about her needs.

“Let me dress.” She called back to them as she finally felt pains of hunger in her stomach; pins and needles. She pulled herself free from the bed and combed through her hair with the shell-comb she carried in her satchel. Her movements were sluggish, head and legs unsteady. She dressed into her pants from the previous day; a faded, deep gold color that hugged her athletic legs down to her ankles. She then pulled a clean shirt from the satchel, having already prepared for a two-day journey with Aria through the forest. The clean shirt was an opaque white with gold floral designed embroideries around the base and at the sweetheart neckline. It had billowing sleeves and was somewhat more revealing than she would have liked for the resent situation, but it was comfortable. Next, she took the corset and affixed it around her middle, tying it tight enough to stay, but loose enough so she could breathe easily. She looked herself over in the oval mirror on the wall by the water basin and fixed her shirt so that her ample breasts were modestly hidden the best they could be.

She fixed her hair into a neat French braid, using her fingers to smooth the flyways. She went to the water basin and splashed her face, rubbing her hands over her skin gently to wake her senses up. She looked at herself in the oval mirror, seeing dark circles beneath her eyes and sighed heavily. She moved to the door, tying her sandals onto her feet.

“Amita! Come on!” Aria’s voice rang through the door and Alessandra was quick to open, making the small girl jump back. Alessandra stepped out into the hall and closed her door, looking between the two before her.

“Yes, Aria. I’m here. Let’s go eat.” Alessandra found the energy to greet her with a small smile and extended her hand for the girl to take. Aria took it and then reached out for Bjorn’s, walking between the two adults. Aria was a jitterbug, tugging on their arms and bouncing up and down. Alessandra, even though she restrained herself from snapping at the young girl, could not help but feel her actions tiresome. Having a motherly affection towards her niece, she could not find the will to scold her and instead thought of an idea.

“Bjorn.” Alessandra looked to her brother and nodded her head down at their niece, giving a small smirk. He understood and Alessandra mouthed out a count to three. At three, they tugged Aria’s arms up, lifting her feet off the ground and swung her forward. She gave a small squeal and then laughed when her feet hit the ground again. They did this several more times, as they headed down the hallway. Each time Aria squealed and let out a series of giggles, tiny feet wiggling in the air.

Bjorn laughed and looked to his sister, noticing her odd disheveled appearance and the tired look to her normally vibrant eyes. He could see dark circles beginning to form beneath her eyes, how her movements were sluggish in nature. She swallowed hard as though something was caught in her throat.

“Are you ill?” Bjorn’s voice was soft as he and Alessandra lifted their niece up again. Alessandra did not meet his gaze and shook her head to answer him. Perhaps she was, but that description felt all wrong. Bjorn narrowed his gaze as his voice became serious. “ _Aless_ _.._.”

“I’ll be fine, Bjorn.” She met his stare, smile on her face but a look of annoyance behind it. He could sense that she wanted him to drop the subject, but he found he couldn’t

“You don’t look fine.” Bjorn retorted, feeling Aria tugging on his arm in a signal to be lifted up again. The two adults lifted her up on the next step.

“Sleep did not come easy to me.” Alessandra admitted, feeling the weight of his gaze force her to cede.

“You slept till the afternoon.” Bjorn’s words were a mere fact, not something meant to question her nor regard her with disbelief. “What kept you awake?”

“I felt ill.” Alessandra replied simply, stern look in her eyes that halted him in his questioning.

“You have mastered mother’s evil eye. Do you know that?” Bjorn commented, the look on her face both a terrifying resemblance and funny likeness. Alessandra was about to say something clever to him, but she suddenly felt a sharp pain course through her. She closed her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. She gripped Aria’s hand tightly as though she were about to topple over and the girl’s hand was her only lifeline. 

“Amita!” Aria cried out as she had jumped and now found she was heading for a collision with the ground. Bjorn spun forward, fell to a knee and caught Aria. He grabbed hold of Alessandra’s hand that gripped the girl’s, looking up at her with worry. Alessandra released her hold and slapped her hand to her chest with a sudden loss of breath. It was as though something had sucked all the air right out of her lungs, leaving them burning and raw.

“Patruus?” Aria looked to her uncle, whose hands held her at the waist. Bjorn said nothing in reply and continued to examine his sister. She said nothing; just stared wide-eyed at the floor as though she was about to be sick. One hand rested on her chest while the other wrapped round her belly, holding it.

“Aless? Are you alright?” Bjorn questioned, sensing something was more wrong with her than he had believed. Alessandra began walking away from them, hand pressed firmly to her chest. She wavered as she came to a corner, bumping into it as she went around. Something called to her.

“Amita?” Aria called after her as her uncle picked her up and jogged after his sister, watching her as she power walked her way down the hall. It was though a rope had been tied round her and now a force drew her in, leading her along like a puppet on a string.

“Alessandra! Aless wait!” Bjorn called to her, trying to jog lightly to keep up with her powerful, meaningful strides. He dodged those in the hall that they passed, keeping Aria tightly in his arms. “Alessandra! Stop!”

She could not hear him. Not with the sound of the unintelligible whispers in her head. It sounded like multiple voices at once, all vying for a chance to get her attention. The pain coursing through her blood, the feeling of illness in her bones, sadness gripping her heart was almost too much to bear. She found herself wanting to run herself off a balcony and feel sweet relief of an endless sleep.

She abruptly collided with someone in the hallway. Her arms came up to lessen the blow, becoming pinned by the solid mass between them and herself. A strong pair of arms held her steady; one hand wrapped around her back and held her left shoulder while the other rested on her lower back. She felt pins and needles in her legs, making her wobble on her feet. She was grateful for the stranger catching her. Something else spread through her; a warmth; relief. She felt relief for the first time since stepping into the God-awful city.

“Alessandra, what has happened?” It was a deep, rough voice. It reminded her of waves crashing on rock during a warm summer day.

_Allanon_  – She thought the name and felt her vision reeling. He had a tight hold of her, feeling her slip downwards as though overcome by some great weight. His instincts took over and he tried to take on some of her weight, holding her upright. She looked up at him, blue orbs weary and alarmed. His eyes scanned over her methodically; warm, chocolate eyes that brought her comfort. They narrowed as he sensed something dismal.

“Something has you.” His words sent a spark of fright through her. He could sense something was deeply wrong with her, feel something draining her, stealing her away. It was the same thing as the day before in the Throne Room. He had hoped a goodnight’s rest would have ceased it, had wanted to shrug aside his belief that it was more for the moment. However, as he watched her, he could see in her eyes that the feelings of illness, sadness, pain, within her rose more. It beckoned her to follow some invisible force.

“I must go.” Her voice was gruff, so unlike her own as though something else was using it as a conduit. She abruptly pushed away from him and the sense of relief vanished, allowing the relenting illness and sadness wash over her. She rounded him gracefully, footfalls barely making a noise, and continued down the hall. Allanon spun on his heels and watched her, taking careful note of how unsteady she was.

“Alessandra, wait!” Allanon’s deep voice ripped through the hall like thunder in the sky. Bjorn with Aria in his arms blew passed Allanon in the hunt for his sister. Alessandra continued in her haste and went out a side door into a courtyard, into the bright sunshine of the afternoon. She took the deepest breath she could as though she had been holding it beneath crashing waves that threatened to drown her. She released and took another breath, filling her lungs, cleansing her blood.

“Amita!” Aria’s voice rang out, but Alessandra could hardly hear her. She was concentrating on what was pulling on her. It was there close by. A haze hung over her mind, speaking to her in soft whispers.

“Aria, wait.” Bjorn watched his sister as she huffed and gasped as though something had hold of her throat, her heart. She crouched, knees bent and balancing on the balls of her feet as she closed her eyes tightly. A hand returned to her chest, fingers beneath the fabric as she felt her heat hammering.

“What is wrong with her, Patruus? Is she sick?” Aria asked innocently and Bjorn pulled her closer, hugging her head to his shoulder to keep her from seeing. She squirmed, getting his attention and then called out, “Allanon!”

Bjorn turned swiftly to his left to see the Druid approaching. His footfalls were heavy, fast paced as though he had a mission to complete. He stopped beside the two, watching Alessandra in her crumpled state. His stare was blank, unreadable, but his clenched hands told another story.

“What’s happened to her?” Bjorn growled out, eyes glaring daggers at the Druid. Allanon met his gaze briefly and then shook his head, looking back to the young woman on the ground.

“Something is draining her energy. I felt it yesterday when I met with her.” Allanon announced quietly. His gaze befell the young girl in Bjorn’s arms, seeing her big green eyes wide in fear. He had not meant to scare the girl.

“Draining her...?” Bjorn turned back to his sister. He felt panic searing up within him. After everything that had been happening at the Palace. He turned back to Allanon with a thought. “Is it the Changeling?”

“I don’t believe so. The Changeling does not have power like this.” Allanon replied as he spotted tears rushing down Alessandra’s face, cheeks red and eyes wide open in what looked like alarm. She sucked in breath after breath, trying to calm herself, trying to fight off the parasite that was not really a parasite at all. Something screamed in her mind, but she could not make out the words. She entangled a hand into her hair, tugging on it.

_What had happened between her and the Druid to bring this on? –_  Bjorn thought to himself as he rubbed a hand mindlessly over Aria’s back. Her shoulder length sandy blonde hair tickled his hand.

“What’s wrong with Amita?” Aria’s voice cracked as though she might begin to cry. Bjorn place a hand firmly to her head, locking her gaze over his shoulder.

“You’re Amita is not well, rabbit.” He explained, using the nickname he had given to his niece as he stood watching, guarding over his her and his sister faithfully.

“Patruus?” Aria rested her cheek against his shoulder, small hands playing with the fabric of his stiff uniform. He tilted his chin downwards and kissed her temple, breathing into her hair. “Patruus, Amita’s sick?”

“Rabbit, I don’t...” Bjorn tried his best to form a reply, an honest reply, becoming worried about his sister. She fell from her crouch to her knees, hands planted firmly in the grass.

“Yes, your aunt is sick, girl.” Allanon answered for Bjorn, eyes trailing away from Aria in his arms to the emissary. The two men met each other’s stare, neither quaking under the other’s gaze. Allanon looked away first, feeling Alessandra’s distress.

“Will she be alright?” Aria’s voice grew small as tears prickled her eyes. “Will you heal her like she healed you?”

_She h_ _ealed him_ _? –_  Bjorn questioned and looked back at the Druid once more, eyebrows knitted together fiercely.

“Both of you, stay here.” Allanon ordered, ignoring Aria’s question and Bjorn’s confused stare. He walked away from them, moving closer to Alessandra carefully. He was slow in his movements, testing how close he would be allowed to approach. He crouched before her, fingers laced together, elbows resting on his knees.

“What ails you?” His voice was demanding of a response, but also gentle and calm. He observed her again, seeing nothing on the surface. Alessandra could not meet his eyes. She stared down at her hands in the grass, clenching and releasing in a manner to relieve her stress. “I cannot help if you do not speak to me.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” She breathed out in a low breath. She wanted to answer him, explain how she felt, what was happening, but it was too much.

“Aria, stay.” Bjorn’s voice was stern, defiant as he watched the Druid question his sister.

“Why do I always have to stay behind?” Aria huffed as Bjorn set her down on the ground and briskly jogged over to Alessandra, hand holding the hilt of his sword to control its jostling. He bent a knee at her side and placed a hand on her left shoulder.

Allanon noticed how Bjorn nearly shouldered him out of the way of his sister. His hand sitting protectively on her shoulder. Bjorn met the Druid’s gaze, feeling his eyes on him and saw the stern stare. He swung back to his sister and looked her over, not seeing anything physically wrong on the surface.

“What is it?” Bjorn asked as he looked over her again in search of some sign. He took his left hand and cupped her right cheek, forcing her to face him as one might do to a child. He could see veins bulging in her forehead, see red in her eyes from ruptured blood vessels. “Aless, tell us what’s wrong.”

Alessandra shook her head and closed her eyes tightly, leaning into her brother’s touch. Bjorn took his hand on her shoulder and wrapped it around her, pulling her into his side. He turned to Allanon, who watched Alessandra with hands clasped before him and a deep, thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Something is using her to drain energy. Draining her strength in the process.” His words were finite as he narrowed his gaze at her. Her breath was heavy as though having run a long distance. She raised her chin and looked into his eyes, her cheek against Bjorn’s shoulder. Stray hairs fell into her flushed face, eyes feeling heavy as though she might be able to sleep finally.

“Do not fall asleep.” Allanon’s tone was strict, demanding of her attention like the clashing of two sword. It also held wisdom; old, methodical wisdom.

“Why not? Maybe that’s all she needs.” Bjorn argued on her behalf, though he doubted it himself. She wanted to chide them both, ask to be left alone, fall asleep for a hundred years.

“Because if she sleeps now, while whatever it is that drains her has not been stopped, she may never wake up again.” A fire burned in Allanon’s words, in his eyes. He reached out and grabbed hold of Alessandra’s upper arms, making her kneel up to regain her composure. “Now, tell me what you feel.”

“I feel... a deep illness; far-reaching fear.” She admitted, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. His hands on her arms felt as though they were pushing energy into her. As though he were allowing her to feed off his strength so as to regain some of her own. She raised a hand and placed it on his forearm gently. “Heart wrenching sadness. Something is trying to get me to notice it.” 

“What do you mean something is trying to get you to notice it?” Bjorn was confused and bothered that it seemed as though Alessandra and the Druid were in some kind of silent agreement with each other that excluded him. They understood one another on some kind of level that he could not fathom.

“Using me to drain energy...?” Alessandra’s words were small as though she didn’t believe them herself. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me that you channel energy. Pure energy.” Allanon’s voice was deductive and it forced Alessandra to pay close attention through her misery.

“Yes, I channel it.” She admitted as her hand that still lingered in the grass, scrunched and released.

“You draw from it like a flower draws in the sun.” Allanon continued and she instantly realized what he meant. She looked at his arms on her in a flash of frenzy and worry.

“And I am draining you right now.” She tried to tug his hands away, but he held her in a vice like grip. Her frantic blue eyes met his again. “Let go, it will only affect you as well.”

“So let it. It will give us enough time to figure out what is happening to you.” Allanon’s voice was gentle, tender almost as he met her gaze. Her worried blue orbs were met with comforting, earthly brown. Eyes that she felt she  **should**  trust; that she  _could_  trust.

“Your ability is like a door: open for energy to cross through both ways.” Allanon did not look away from her. He held her steady, eyes locked and trying to rattle her out of her fog enough to comprehend.

“If I can draw from the energy,” Alessandra began to understand, “then something else can use me the same way, reversing the process.”

“So, something is using you like a conduit?” Bjorn finally understood, but did not quite believe it. Alessandra looked to her brother, seeing his worried expression.

“I believe so.” Allanon concluded.

“Do you know  **what**  is it?” Bjorn questioned further, but the Druid shook his head. Bjorn looked to his sister and she too shook her head. “When did this start? When I left you alone with  _him_?”

“No Bjorn. Allanon did not do this.” She retorted and let her chin fall again as she closed her eyes. She licked her bottom lip, feeling it cracked. “It is something else. Something stronger. It started when I stepped foot in Arborlon.”

Bjorn looked up at Allanon, trepidatious and skittish suddenly. He moved in closer to his sister, taking her left cheek in his hand and forcing her to look at him. She knew what he was going to ask her.

“Can you sense it?” He asked gently, quietly and Allanon almost did not hear him. Alessandra released her clenched hands in the grass, feeling her fingers dig into the soil. Bjorn looked down at her hands and then met her gaze again. “Do you know  _where_  it is?”

A sensation struck her like a bolt of lightning; a realization. She did know where it was. She could sense it. She could almost see a path in the earth like a pulsating electrical charge leading from her to it.

“There.” She raised a dirtied finger and pointed in the direction behind her brother and Allanon. Bjorn stared at her confused a moment and then looked over his shoulder. He shook his head slowly and then halted. Alessandra lowered her hand and refused to meet Allanon’s gaze that threatened to burn a hole through her. She looked to Bjorn. “What is that thing?”

Bjorn said nothing at first. He only stared over his shoulder at the array of trees beneath the Palace. The one she pointed to, the entity she claimed was calling to her was the largest tree that sat in the middle of them all. Perfectly formed with a silver-white trunk arched skyward in a symmetrically balanced network of tapered limbs clustered with broad, five-cornered leaves that were blood red in color.

Bjorn closed his eyes and hung his head. His hand fell from her cheek and came to rest on the bridge of his nose, pinching. He scoffed, thrust his hand away and cursed under his breath.

“Of course, it would call to you of all people in this bloody world.” His voice was a sigh of renunciation and irritation. He lifted his gaze again, staring at the great tree and shook his head. “That, dear sister, is the Ellcrys.”

“The Ellcrys?” She questioned more scornfully then she had intended. Her eyes lingered on the tree behind Bjorn for a long moment. She had never heard the name of the great tree before, but it seemed to fit. She looked between her brother and Allanon. “What is it?”

“It is a sapient tree that was created by the bonding of earth and life.” Allanon explained carefully as his hold on her loosened. “She is the linchpin of the barrier that keeps the Daemons that once overran the Four Lands trapped in an alternate world known as the Forbidding.”

“ _She_?” Alessandra’s stare befell him instantly at the odd gender usage. Her eyebrows knitted together. “You refer to the tree as ‘she’?”

Allanon nodded once and Alessandra felt that this was correct. The unintelligible voice whispering in her head suddenly did sound feminine.

“I must go there.” She announced and tried to stand. Allanon helped her to her feet, hands on her arms, and then released her. “It beckons me.”

“No shit, you think?” Bjorn scoffs standing up straight with a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Will you watch Aria?” Alessandra asked gently as she fixed herself the best she could. She felt stronger thanks to Allanon, but she knew it would not last long. Bjorn shakes his head of strawberry blonde hair, some of it falling into his face and sighs.

“I will escort you there.” Allanon declared, finding the siblings wearing on his nerves. Bjorn rounded on him so fast that Allanon swore he saw sparks fly. Actually, he sensed it the way he had when Alessandra had rejuvenated the fern in the Throne Room.

_So, he has power as well. –_ Allanon thought as he met the young emissary’s glare. The trio was strange, peculiar. He felt something different from each of them. Even the young girl; Aria. She too had a kind of energy surrounding her that Allanon could not give a name to.

“My sister is weary. She needs rest first before seeing the Ellcrys.” Bjorn argued, seeing Alessandra trying her best to compose herself. She rubbed a hand over the side of her face and let it fall to her chest, resting there.

“The Ellcrys will not allow her rest,  _boy_. Not until it speaks with her.” The Druid felt his own indignation creep up within him at the insolence the emissary displayed. He should know better. He announced this, “You should know better working at the Palace.”

“Bjorn,” Alessandra moved to his side and paced a hand on his arm tenderly, “Allanon is right. I will not be able to rest properly until I know what she wants with me. She will not allow it. I can sense it in my bones.”

“Allow it?” Bjorn looked to her in sheer disbelief. He loved her, but sometimes... sometimes he questioned her sanity.

“I know you and your abilities, but a tree draining you, wanting converse with you?” His tone was full of admonishment. “Aless this is madness.”

“I cannot explain it.” She tried to think of how she could put the feelings to words. There was no way. Either he understood or he didn’t.

“No, don’t bother.” Bjorn shook his head, words souring as she saw his gaze darken. “I can never understand.”

“That is not what–”

“I’m not mad with you, Aless.” Bjorn’s tone became regretful as he looked to her. Sometimes his temper got the better of him. “It’s just... It’s hard being your brother sometimes. Every time I think I may know or understand you and your abilities, I’m smacked in the face with reality. We are different.”

“At least you understand that much.” Alessandra gave a small laugh and Bjorn shook his head. “I wish we had been given the same. It would have made things easier between us.”

_The same what? –_ Allanon found himself wondering, watching the siblings closely. They were becoming more curious by the second. What were they?

“Come here.” Bjorn pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, feeling heat radiating from her. He murmured into her hair, “You have a fever and I can sense you haven’t been drinking enough water. Your blood is thin. When you are finished, I will take you to the springs.”

“Thank you,  _father_.” Alessandra teased him, laughing and wrapping her arms around his middle. She hugged him tightly.

“Someone needs to watch over you. Especially with no Keeper.” Something about Bjorn’s words struck Allanon with a heavy recognition. Their haunting beauty, their keen senses, their abilities, no Keeper... the wise look behind such young appearing eyes.

“You’re Elementals.” His voice was low as though he almost did not believe it. Alessandra froze in her brother’s arms as Bjorn met Allanon’s stare with serene conviction.

“No. I am an Elemental.” Bjorn corrected him and pulled back from Alessandra, holding her at arm’s length. “She is something far greater.”

“Greater?” Allanon’s gaze befell her; heavy and persecuting. “I should have realized.”

He knew instantly what the markings on her hands and feet were, the way she spoke about energy, why she could heal. He had read about beings like her before, was instructed by his mentor Bremen. They were all gone though, lost to myth and legend.

“I  _was_  an Elemental. A Pygmy actually. A child of Terra.” She relinquished slowly. She had needed to keep it a secret for such a long time. Admitting it aloud was a struggle, a fear realized. She turned to face him fully. “I am a Guardian.”

“One without a Keeper.” Bjorn announced again, a fire in his eyes. Allanon could sense this was a touchy subject between them.

“Yes, a Guardian with no Keeper.” Alessandra nearly snarled at him, begging him silently to shut his mouth.

“A Guardian.” Allanon’s words left him in a soft breath, a whisper. Instantly, all of his education and reading about these people came back to him. “We were taught that your kind had been extinct for hundreds of years. That the last of the Elementals were destroyed by Hell fire during the Great Wars.”

 “That’s what we wanted you all to think, Druid.” Bjorn took a step forward, matching Allanon in height and stature. He looked back at his sister, eyes softening. “But, we are alive. The three of us alone exist.”

“Your village,” Allanon began, remembering her words in the Throne Room, “you said your people–”

“Yes, our people. They are our people, those who descend from the elemental lines, but we three are the last who have gifts in a long line of a dying breed.” Alessandra cut him off, wishing to leave this place and be done with the conversation. She could feel the pull of the large crimson tree on her strength again. It needed her in the most horrible way. “There may be others, but we three are all we know about. Now, I  **must**  go. The Ellcrys beckons me again.”

“I will take Aria and get her lunch. When you are finished, come back, eat yourself, and then get some rest.” Bjorn ordered her gently. She nodded at him and then watched as he headed back to Aria, who kicked at the dirt in new footwear.

“Aria, quit kicking the dirt.” Alessandra acknowledge the girl, who looked up with a suddenly bright face.

“Amita, you’re okay! Look at my sandals!” Aria lifted one foot, trying to show her aunt her new footwear, which was now dirty. Bjorn walked closer and shook his head at the girl, internally rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Amita, look how dirty your niece’s brand new sandals have become.” Bjorn grabbed hold of her swiftly, carrying her bridal style in his arms. He looked back at his sister. “And in only a matter of hours, nonetheless. A new record, I think.”

“It’s not my fault.” Aria argued, squirming in her uncle’s arms.

“Whose fault is it then, rabbit?” Bjorn laughed and Alessandra closed her eyes, finding everything to become too much at once. “Let’s go get some food in your belly before that hangry monster takes over.”

“I’m not hangry! I don’t want to go with you. You’re mean.” Aria yelled at him, making him laugh harder. “Amita, I want to go with you!”

“Oh dear lord...” Alessandra breathed out with a hint of fire in her voice. “Aria, do as your uncle says and go with him.”

They began heading back to the Palace, Aria in Bjorn’s arms. Alessandra heard Aria yell at her uncle and Alessandra felt the desire to smack a hand to her forehead.

“Bjorn, quit antagonizing her! Both of you behave!” Alessandra called after them and then looked to Allanon regretfully as well as slightly embarrassed. “I cannot imagine what you must think of us.”

She gave a short, snort through her nose and then shook her head again. What a mess they were indeed.

“It does not matter what I think.” Allanon announced, noticing the huff of a snort Alessandra gave in return. He felt himself relinquish his thoughts aloud. “I think you are a family. One that obviously enjoys each other’s company.”

“I didn’t realize Druids had a sense of humor.” She deadpanned, sensing he was actually attempting to lightheartedly joke with her. Just as she was about to say something more, she felt an agonizing, heart wrenching pain in her chest again. This time it nearly made her crumple to her knees. Allanon caught her before she fell, one of her hands on her chest while the other had caught herself against his.

“You  **must**  head to the Sanctuary. Now.” Allanon told her, seeing the pain that washed over her. He could feel it radiate from her.

“Will you still escort me there?” She questioned, unsure of how the reveal and her family’s actions had changed his view of them and herself.

“Yes.” His tone was unreadable, but he led her towards the woods and the path to the Sanctuary faithfully.


End file.
